


We'll Never Be Normal

by saturni_stellis



Category: Independence Day (Movies), Silent Zone - Stephen Molstad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Recovery, Self Confidence Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Sickfic, five times fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 13:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19477216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturni_stellis/pseuds/saturni_stellis
Summary: A very loose 'five times Milton touched Brackish's hair story', which follows their relationship from it's beginnings to it's happy end. /because the second film never happened\(Happy Independence Day, I'm uploading this as it's July 4th and there should be more Brackish/Milton in the world!)





	We'll Never Be Normal

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few bits in this I stole from 'Silent Zone' (the prequel novel about Brackish Okun) but nothing too spoiler-y, or that wouldn't make sense without having read the book! (And if you haven't, you should read the book because it's honestly great!) I also played with the canon a bit in this, so instead of Brackish being in a coma for twenty years, he's only in a coma for 74 days ;)

1.

Accidents weren't common in Area 51, but they still happened; and Milton was glad he had a small team he could rely on if things got really icky. But despite Milton's request for more staff, the Government were still squeezing their purses as tight as they could go. It was why when an unexpected but contained explosion occurred in one of their experimentation sectors and they had multiple casualties of varying severity, Milton had to call on some urgent help from the other staff members.

“I'm not going to ask any of you to perform any incisions or heart surgery,” he'd told them, trying to ease the look of distress on some of the staff's faces as he ordered them into scrubs. “I'll just need some assistance – passing me stuff in theatre, monitoring life signs that sort of thing.”

Despite being the Director of Area 51, Dr Brackish Okun had been the last person to offer assistance.

“Oh, oh no man I'm not even a real Doctor!” he'd laughed nervously as Milton stood in the doorway of the small cafeteria for the senior members of staff. Brackish sat at one of the tables in the empty room, twiddling his fingers in-front of him, nodding his head violently.

“Dr Okun.” Milton said, a term he still used when he was being “professional”. They were friendly enough to use each others first names, but Brackish could tell now he was being quite serious. “I have ten people with severe burns up there. Two of them might not make it, not to mention the fifteen more who need minor surgery. I could really do with your help.”

Brackish blew out a long trail of air, fidgeting in his seat. “This is some pretty serious shit.”

Milton responded with a rather deadpan “Yeah.”

The first time Milton had met Brackish, he was an un-responsive, mildly violent patient with short term memory loss in a military hospital. He had raved about alien ships and his friend falling off a mountain edge. He'd seen some horrors other people couldn't even muster up in their nightmares – and yet as Milton led him into the ward with the burnt bodies and blood-soaked floor, the young (honorary) Doctor pinned himself up against the wall, frozen to the spot, eyes wide as he scanned the scenes in front of him. The other small team of junior doctors and nurses ran from bed to bed, frantically tending to the wounded, changing drip bags and re-applying needles to large syringes before being injected into arms, legs and other parts of the body.

Before Milton could even walk forward and ask if he was okay, Brackish's eyes had rolled to the back of his head and he slumped like a ton of bricks onto the sick bay's floor. It was a good thing for him that he was leant against the wall to break the fall.

A few of the other members of staff who were standing close by went forward, but Milton was already by his side before they got there, knelt down beside him and cradling his head so it didn't smash against the hard surface of the ground below.

“Hey, hey come on...” he said soothingly as Brackish's body weight fell heavy against him. “It's okay, I've got him, bring me that chair, and some water!” Milton shouted to one of the men standing closest to him.

Brackish groaned against Milton's shoulder as he was led onto a chair.

“Put your head between your legs.” Milton said softly, taking Brackish's head in his hands, fingers entwining in the soft strands of Brackish's hair as some of it slipped from his grasp and fell over his face.

“M'okay...” he heard Brackish mumble as his hands came up to Milton's arms holding onto the Doctor for support. “Just...need...”

“Don't talk, just take some deep breaths alright?”

As the glass of water was brought over, Milton instructed for it to be put on the table and kept himself knelt infront of Brackish, stroking the side of his head carefully as he felt Brackish come back to Earth.

Finally after a few seconds, Brackish laughed nervously again and looked up to meet Milton's gaze. “What happened?”

Without realising his hands were still buried in his hair, Milton kept a hold on Brackish, worried he might slip forward off the chair and onto the floor again.

“You went a bit woozy for a sec there. You sure you're gonna be okay?”

Brackish nodded, clearly a little embarrassed now he had his head together. “I uh, I've never seen that much blood before ya know? Creeped me out a little.”

Milton nodded, noticing that directly behind them was Jonathan Sommers, who'd taken a large laceration across a main artery in his leg. It looked a lot worse than it was. A few stitches and the old fool would be up and about in no time.

“Kinda smells in here too.”

The smell of burnt flesh was something Milton had become accustomed to after being a military doctor for some years, but he realised now that to any old Joe it could be perceived as possibly one of the worst smells known to man.

“Come on, let me get you out of here.”

Finally bringing his hands out from the mess of Brackish's hair, he helped him onto his feet, and led him towards the door. For now, he'd give Brackish a more menial task. On the way out of sickbay, he tried to ignore the looks the other staff members were giving him.

2.

Brackish was yet to spend a full night in Milton's quarters. Despite coming to see him almost every evening for about three months, they would sit together, eat together, talk together sometimes until the early hours, but when it came to that inevitable moment when his eyes would droop and he could no longer string a sentence together for want of sleep, he would bid his farewells and say goodnight.

Sometimes they'd have a small kiss at the door, sometimes they'd spend ten minutes or so smooching on the sofa or in Milton's bed... one time Brackish even leant across the kitchen counter and kissed Milton unexpectedly forcing him to smile so wide he didn't think it would ever come off his face.

This particular evening they had retired to Milton's couch, and as Milton leant back, legs aching and body weak from a strenuous day, Brackish quietly shuffled next to him, body curling up like a shy kitten. As if waiting for Brackish to make the next move, Milton lay back against the cushions, allowing the other man to settle in beside him, and to Milton's surprise, Brackish rested his head against his chest, wrapping his arms around his waist.

Heart pounding in his chest, Milton lay deadly still, worried that if he moved at any minute, Brackish might jump off him and slink to the opposite side of the sofa. Instead he positioned his hands under his head and enjoyed the feeling of Brackish's lithe frame pressed against his own.

After a few seconds of feeling very content and very comfortable, he realised Brackish's head was moving against his chest, nudging it against his breastbone. Milton wondered if it was actually possible that even in a state of sleep Brackish could still nod his head, but he didn't think he'd fallen into slumber yet. Instead of asking if he was alright, Milton brought his hands from behind his head and wrapped them gently around Brackish's shoulders. The man (laying on top of him now) instantly stilled and he felt a small breath leave his lungs.

Forcing back the urge to say “why didn't you just ask me to hold you?”, Milton grinned and knew better than to state the obvious. Drawing small circles with his finger in-between Brackish's shoulder blades, he could've sworn he heard the other man purr. Testing his theory he lifted his hand a little, up to reach Brackish's neck. The body against him jolted, a natural reaction of suddenly feeling the contact of skin.

The urge to kiss him now was overwhelming. If Milton didn't know how coy Brackish was when it came to intimacy he would've pulled him up to his lips, kissing him so deeply it would make Brackish shudder. But he knew to be patient. Besides, if he was being truly honest to himself, this was far more intimate than any kiss he'd ever known. Laying, kissing, even being in the presence of Brackish was far more special to him than any fuck he'd ever had, and he supposed that must've meant something. Well he knew what it meant, it meant he was stupid crazy in love with him...but he hadn't admitted that yet... not to Brackish anyway.

Milton's hand at Brackish's neck shifted and went to his hair. It was at the length he'd always had it before, Brackish had told him a few days ago.

“Before I had it cut like a square. Worst. Mistake. Ever!” he'd laughed about that before quickly worrying he'd offended Milton in some way, back tracking by saying he thought Milton's short hair was “extremely cute.”

Feeling his face flush at the memory, Milton's fingers swept through the back of Brackish's hair, feeling the other man freeze against him. He tried it again, this time very softly twisting a strand around his finger. After a few seconds, Brackish's body relaxed and he actually hummed against Milton's chest, arms tightening a little around his waist. Milton smiled and continued to stroke his hair until they both fell asleep, for the first time ever, in each others arms.

3.

Brackish was the most impatient of patients, and that was only the beginning of annoying traits he tended to possess when he was injured. Anything that kept him away from work was unbearable for him, and his whining and whinging about it was equally as unbearable for his co-workers. They begged him to retire to his office, to perform tasks that didn't require both hands so he could actually _rest_ his sprained wrist.

One day into having the tightly wrapped bandage on his wrist, he popped his head round the corner of Milton's bedroom door looking extremely sorry for himself. He was dressed in only his underpants and vest when Milton looked up from his book.

“What's wrong?” He asked from where he lay on the bed above the covers, still fully clothed.

“I need some help.” Brackish said pathetically.

Milton closed his book and got off the bed walking over to him as Brackish stood up straight and passed him a pink shampoo bottle.

“I need you to wash my hair.”

Milton smirked at him looking down at the strawberry scented shampoo that was now in his hand. Where Brackish had even managed to get a hold of it he didn't know, but the image of him coming out of the 7/11 in Vegas with bags full of the bottles for his tri-monthly stash had him almost giggling like a school boy.

“What's the matter!?” Brackish said as a worrying glance crossed his face.

“Nothing, nothing, of course I'll wash your hair baby, get in the bath come on.”

“Oh.” Brackish paused, biting his bottom lip nervously. “I haven't run a bath I just...thought you could, wash it over the sink.”

Milton rolled his eyes. “I'm not your hairdresser Brackish, I'm your boyfriend – come on, run a bath and get in.”

Brackish repeated the word “boyfriend”, squeaking with laughter as his cheeks blushed and Milton turned him round, leading him into the bathroom.

Rolling up his sleeves before turning on the taps, Brackish watched, still nervously toying with the hem of his vest. As if Milton could read Brackish's mind, he went to the bathroom cabinet and pulled out some scented bubble bath, squirting a generous amount into the flow of water in the tub.

Turning to face Brackish, Milton summoned him forward, taking his injured arm in his hands gently and untying the bandage. “You can't get this wet.” he said softly as Brackish watched Milton's hands at work. “I'll put it back on when you get out.” Brackish nodded, listening to the Doctors orders.

Once the bandage was off, Milton gave Brackish a small smile. “You'll need to take the rest off too.”

“Will you close your eyes?”

Milton didn't want to refuse. He could've suggested he help Brackish out of his remaining garments, could've alluded to the fact it wouldn't be all that dissimilar to feeling Brackish's naked body pressed against his in bed, or that having his fingers buried in his ass was probably a lot more intimate than seeing him naked – but Brackish didn't perceive it in the same way, and Milton knew that.

So instead of protesting, Milton stole a quick kiss on his lips, before closing his eyes, hearing Brackish struggle and moan with his one working hand, before the sound of his body getting into the bath mixed with the swish of water.

“Can I open them now?”

“Yeah.”

When Milton turned, he saw Brackish had gathered the soapy bubbles around his body, shielding it from view. He knelt beside the tub and picked up a small jug on the side rinsing Brackish's hair and watching it get darker and stick to his pale bony shoulders. It was always a wonder to him how Brackish managed to stay so thin with all the junk he ate. He put it down to all that nervous energy he had, along with the fact that sometimes Milton literally had to remind him to eat.

He squeezed a generous amount of shampoo into his hands, the overwhelming scent of it immediately reminding him of the candy he used to eat at Elementary school. Running it through Brackish's hair he felt the other man sink below him, tipping his head back as he sighed at the touch. Milton massaged the suds into his scalp, running his fingers all the way down the foamy strands, tugging at the ends gently to remove any knots that formed in the water. He brought it up to a ball in both hands and continued to circle his fingertips into the top of Brackish's head.

“Baby, that feels really good.”

Milton let out a small breathy laugh as he continued to wash his hair, threading his fingers through it again and again before massaging his scalp and repeating the action.

“I should get you to do this all the time.” Brackish said lazily, his eyes half closed as Milton started to rinse the shampoo out.

“Yeah, and put my back out whilst I'm at it.”

Despite the joking tone with which he said it, Brackish still looked up at him with concern. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“I'm fine.” Milton smiled. _I'd break my back to look after you_. He leant forward and kissed Brackish's wet mouth. “Maybe next time, I'll get in with you.”

Brackish made a small sound at this suggestion, opening his mouth a little wider to let Milton's tongue slip inside. They kissed deeply for a few minutes, Milton gripping Brackish's wet clean hair with one hand, the side of the bath with his other.

The sound of their wet kisses was forcing Milton's temperature to rise to the point where it was starting to feel uncomfortable in his shirt and loose tie, and he knew the steam of the bath wasn't helping.

When they finally parted, Milton realised his legs were feeling a little weaker than normal. “The bubbles are starting to disappear.” he whispered against Brackish's mouth.

“I know.” Brackish answered, not seeming too overly bothered about it now.

“You need help out?”

Brackish nodded timidly as Milton grabbed a towel from the rack letting Brackish get out of the bath and averting his eyes, before he could look at him again once the towel was wrapped around his body.

Taking a smaller towel off the drying rack, Milton brought it to Brackish's hair running it over his head and shaking it through the fabric, before chucking it over the sink and combing his fingers through the now towel-dry hair.

Brackish smiled in response to the caring nature with which Milton gave to such a task. He knew he could rely on Milton to always look after him.

“Now I feel normal again.”

Milton took his hands from Brackish's hair and brought them down to squeeze his waist over the towel. “Baby. I hate to break it to you, but you'll _never_ be normal.”

“Hey-” before he could fire back, Milton silenced him with another deep kiss.

4.

The suggestion had been a joke. A passing remark that was just meant to invoke a bit of a reaction, something they could laugh and fantasise about in bed together later. But once the idea was there, it was hard to get it out of their heads.

“ _Hey babe, what if we did it in your office?_ ”

Later that evening, Milton had Brackish lifted onto one of the Lab's workbench surfaces, petri dishes and syringes falling onto the floor in a clutter as they kissed like hungry teenagers, both hard as rocks under their trousers.

“You've been thinking about it all day haven't you?” Milton had whispered in Brackish's ear when he felt the other man's hand go between his legs, gasping at the size of him under the fabric.

Brackish whimpered, feeling Milton press into him, pushing him further back onto the table as more stuff fell off the side. He opened his thighs a little wider, feeling Milton tug him forward.

“So have you.” he retorted as Milton kissed his neck hungrily, hands gripping his waist.

There wasn't much talk after that, just pants and groans and small grunts as flies were undone and belts were unbuckled. Milton had almost climbed on top of him on the cold metal surface as Brackish ran his hands up under his shirt, grazing his fingernails over his chest hair and down his stomach.

Being in a Area 51's Doctor's Lab had it's advantages for this kind of activity. Milton had locked and sealed the doors with his security code, and it also housed plenty of medical safe lubricants, which Milton had easy access to without having to put a halt to their foreplay for too long.

As he grabbed one of the sachets and tore it open with his teeth, he administered half to his fingers and the other half to his own cock, rubbing it along the length of himself, sighing at the cold sensation against his hot skin.

Brackish was watching with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open, tongue poking out as it pressed against the top set of his teeth. Milton took him by the back of his neck, pulling him in for another deep kiss, his free and lubricated hand wrapping round his waist as it slid between Brackish's cheeks, running along the inside of them until it reached his tight hole.

Brackish's whole body shuddered as the wet finger breached him, moaning loudly as his head fell back forcing Milton's lips to kiss down his chin and over his Adam's apple.

“Oh _God_ baby...”

Milton's cock ached with need as he felt Brackish tighten around his finger, pushing in further as it fluttered with excitement and Brackish's hips moved up and down against the movement.

Brackish's arms came up to wrap around Milton's shoulders as he shivered and brought his face back to Milton's, their noses touching as they breathed heavily against each other. “Baby...ba—baby I...need it...I need you in me now...”

Milton almost came right then and there at the words that came out of Brackish's mouth. Brackish wasn't exactly the one for dirty talk but it was best when he couldn't help it. Hearing Brackish beg was always bound to drive Milton crazy.

“Sorry baby, this is gonna be easier if you turn around.” Milton stroked a thumb over Brackish's cheek as if to re-assure him. They'd never done it without facing each other before.

Brackish just nodded, kissing Milton again, before letting himself be turned around. When he bent over the surface and spread his legs a little without instruction, Milton had to bite down on his lip. He didn't want to waste any more time, and neither did they really have all that much of it. Sure it was late, and most of the staff had probably clocked off for the night, but it was best not to take too many risks. This place was never truly asleep.

Oddly the idea and very small chance of being caught, excited Milton all the more, and he had to stop himself moaning as he opened Brackish up again looking down at his handy work. Just to be sure, he slid two slick fingers into Brackish again, to make sure he was ready. Watching them disappear, he held his breath. It was the most delightful sight he'd ever seen.

“ _Fuck_ , baby. You're ready.”

Brackish moaned again, as if to tell Milton he was already well aware of that, and pushed back on to his fingers, needy and wanting.

Getting the message, Milton removed his fingers and took his cock at the base, lining it up and pushing in slow, but not stopping until it was all the way.

“Oh Jesus!” Brackish said loudly, the sound of it echoing off the steel tiled walls. Milton could've matched it, but he was so out of it from how bliss it felt down there he could hardly breathe.

One hand wrapped around his waist, the other slid up Brackish's back and into his hair, gripping it firmly as he bent over him and started the slow agonising pace of fucking him into the table.

“Oh my...god...” Brackish whimpered, his whole body turning to jello beneath him. He'd never had it from this angle before, and Milton was in as deep and as hard as he could go.

Milton's hand stroked Brackish's scalp, tugging at his hair as he started moving a little faster. The sensations were overwhelming – the cool cold press of the metal table under his arm, the tight warmth of Brackish's hole around his dick, the soft strands of hair in his tightened fist.

Milton had to slow down, he knew Brackish could only take so much, but when he did, Brackish groaned louder, and forced his hips up off the edge of the table as though to guide Milton back to the pace he was going at before.

This action had Milton pounding into him, brushing hair aside so he could kiss the back of Brackish's neck.

“You feel good baby, so good. Does it feel good?”

Brackish whimpered again, spreading his knees wider almost lifting a leg up on to the table. Milton fucked him deeper, harder, careful not to be too rough, all the while pulling at his hair and panting into the back of his neck.

“I'm so close...” he said after a few seconds.

Brackish moaned, his whole body shuddering as Milton felt him tighten again. “Me too...”

With one last long push, Brackish came hard, wailing into the table's surface, arms outstretched and gripping the other side. Milton wasn't far behind, once he'd felt and heard Brackish finish, he was grunting into Brackish's hair, sliding in as his come spilled out of him, the sound of it obscene in the large empty room.

As soon as Milton pulled out of him, Brackish turned round so they were facing each other again kissing him all over his face before reaching his mouth, opening wide for the invitation of Milton's tongue.

Completely spent, Milton reciprocated, his body still shaking a little with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“Now that really _was_ kinky.” Brackish said, before laughing into the crook Milton's neck.

Milton laughed with him, bringing his arms up Brackish's back, and stroking his hair back into place.

5.

The events of July 2nd 1996 and the hours and days that followed it would stay with Milton forever. Whether it was in waking memories or sweat fuelled nightmares, forty-eight hours was enough to change a lifetime.

In a matter of two days, Milton felt he had experienced every emotion he probably thought a human could endure on the highest level. The excitement and anticipation that all their years of work could be finally ripped open at the arrival of new extra-terrestrial life, the utter fear and dread of what could happen if Earth couldn't fight back, the anger and resentment he had at himself for not being able to save the life of the First Lady, and then that dread, that horrible gut wrenching, heart shattering feeling at hearing the words; “Dr Okun has been attacked.”

That worry, the physically crippling worry that had him clasping at the edge of a chair to keep himself upright, and knowing that there was _nothing_ he could do, that he had to carry on and help with the fight because _so many_ people were dying and the entire human-race depended on this thing going to plan.

And when it was all over and the World knew they would see another day and people were celebrating, all Milton could do was watch through a pane of glass at Brackish Okun lying very still and silently in a bed, strapped to a multitude of machines he knew how to work and knew what they indicated but looked more alien to him now than the creatures who had come to invade his planet.

When Milton had made enough fuss about not caring whether he could be subject to alien disease, that he was _the god damn Chief Medical Officer of this facility!_ , and was allowed inside, he went and sat by Brackish, taking his hand and squeezing it in his own. Half expecting him to squeeze back, Milton leant forward and looked over him.

“It's okay, baby. I'm here now. You can wake up.” Milton's free hand came to Brackish's face as he ran a thumb over his cheek. “Brackish, baby? Please wake up.” his whispered voice faltered as he tried to keep it steady. Brackish always hated seeing him upset. “Don't stay away too long, okay?”

Only when he had left the room for the other Doctors to do their checks, and when he was in a secluded part of the corridor, did Milton allow himself to cry.

*

It was two weeks before they read any brain activity in Brackish. It was a step forward. It was a hope, and right now, that was all Milton had. He rarely left the room that Brackish occupied now. He had been moved to another part of the Area 51 sickbay and it was seldom empty apart from in the very early hours of the morning or sometimes late at night. Empty apart from Milton, who slept on either the chair in the corner or the one next to Brackish, half his body draped over the hospital bed. Sometimes he'd wake up with his hand still holding Brackish's, or with his arms wrapped around his legs at the foot of the bed.

Occasionally he'd be woken by one of the nurses, gently nudging him and offering him a cup of coffee. Every now and then Eric, the senior Doctor he'd put in charge of Brackish's care would come in and tell him to go and get some proper sleep, but Milton argued that he wanted to be there for when Brackish woke.

But after three weeks, Milton realised as he got back to their quarters, it wasn't that at all, it was that he couldn't face the empty bed. That huge expanse of space, cold and meaningless if it meant he didn't have Brackish nudging against him, or snoring lightly against his shoulder.

Instead Milton wandered into the kitchen and found himself staring at the fridge door, at all the pinned pictures Brackish had placed there, (much to his distaste at first). Polaroids of Brackish with the alien ship doing a peace sign, Milton with some of the military guards who used to be stationed at Area 51, photos of them together in Vegas...

The void Milton felt was like nothing he'd ever felt in his life. When he tried to sleep, all he dreamt about was the alien ship coming back to life, bodies being blown to pieces and Brackish, calling out his name in the darkness.

In the dead of night, Milton left his quarters and wandered into the room where Brackish lay in his hospital bed, body still and unmoving. _But still breathing_ Milton reminded himself, as he released the pull on the bars at the side and crawled into the small space on the bed next to Brackish.

He felt very small in his arms as Milton held him. He brought a hand up to his hair which felt silkier than normal under his fingertips. It shone in the fake night light of the make-shift windows of the room. The sounds of the monitors bleeping Brackish's heartbeat was soothing in comparison to the deadly silence of their quarters.

Carding his fingers through Brackish's white hair, he twirled the strands at the ends, noticing it was already curling of it's own accord.

“You would've loved to have seen that ship flying, baby.” Milton whispered. It was the first time he'd spoken to him since he'd first been able to see him after the attack. Eric had suggested he speak to him, that it might help, but Milton had never believed in that kinda hooey. Now he realised as he started describing the events that took place during the early hours of July 4th that it was in fact not just helpful for Brackish, but helpful for him.

*

It was mid-morning by the time Milton had managed to get away from his part of sick-bay to visit Brackish. When he came in he went straight over to him and kissed his forehead.

“Hey guess what.” he said quietly with a small smile. “I grew out my beard. Get's kinda itchy sometimes, but I think it makes me look a little younger.”

Bringing a hand up to run through the hair laying over Brackish's shoulders he let the strands splay over the hospital nightgown. “Your hair's getting long.”

Milton went to the end of the bed and checked his chart, before placing it back on the hooks and taking the seat next to him.

“I found that old mix-tape I made you. Took me a while to find a stereo to play it, but Frank's gonna bring it in tomorrow so we can listen to it again.” Milton watched Brackish's face, still and unfaltering. “You were right, it is really corny. You must have really loved it though huh? To have kept it all this time.”

He sat there in silence for a while before the Nurse came in to change his drip. After asking Milton if he wanted anything, the Doctor shook his head and smiled, thanking her as she left.

When he turned to look at Brackish, a part of him expected Brackish to be staring back at him with his big blue eyes. But his eyes were closed, and they hadn't been open for thirty-two days.

It would be another forty before they were open again.

*

Of everything Brackish could've been annoyed about missing after being knocked out by an alien, he was annoyed about his office being moved.

“I just liked it where it was is all!” he complained to Milton who was sat in his usual chair at the end of the bed, resting his chin on his hand as he did nothing but smile at Brackish who was sat up in his bed looking very bored and very irritable.

“You know how much I had to bust the White House to get the funding for that office! And then all those shoddy workers that turned up and gave me all the wrong dimensions of work benches? Man they were bad.”

Brackish leant back against the pillows looking a little exasperated from his outburst but not quite ready to stop complaining.

“When can I get out of this bed?”

“Soon baby. I promise.”

Brackish sighed again, arms coming up to cross over his stomach.

“You know...” he said a little calmer this time. “I really dig the beard.”

Milton smiled at him before Brackish groaned, outstretching his arms. “I'm gonna be sick...”

Standing up quickly to fetch the little bowl by the foot of the bed he brought it up to Brackish, who immediately leant over and vomited into the silver pot. Milton rubbed his back, bringing his hands round to pull back his long hair that had developed into some form of loose silver ringlets. Milton had joked that it made him look like a Princess.

“Why is this happening?” Brackish croaked into the bowl, his voice sounding weak. Milton's chest hurt at hearing him sound so helpless, but he had been so happy since Brackish had woken up five days ago that he didn't think the sight of anything could make him sad ever again.

“You're going to be okay baby, it'll take some time. You'll be back to normal before you know it I promise.”

Milton took the bowl away and handed Brackish the small cup of water on the side.

“I was never normal, remember.” Brackish said with a small smile.

Milton sat on the edge of the bed, facing him as he brought Brackish's hair back round so it lay across the front of his shoulders, pushing it behind his ears.

Before Milton could pull his hand away, Brackish took it in his own. The feeling of that hand feebly squeezing his after thinking that he might never feel it again almost made tears swell in Milton's eyes.

“The first time I met you I was lying in a hospital bed.” Brackish said quietly, as though he'd only just realised it.

Milton tried to force the tears from his eyes with a small laugh. “Yeah and you were just as annoying then as you are now.”

Brackish didn't laugh with him, but held his gaze intently. “You told me I was going to be okay. You were right.”

Milton nodded, unable to speak for fear his voice might break.

“Baby...” Brackish leant forward, squeezing Milton's hand a little tighter. “I know you're right this time too.”


End file.
